For John
by FeathersGlitterLambert
Summary: Sherlock has broken his promise to John once again but this is the last time. He's determined to get clean. Sherlock/John fluff. One-shot. Rated for mentions of drug use. First ever published story. Also, this was inspired/influenced greatly by an anonymous roleplay and I thank them for their input and would gladly give them credit if they message me about it.


John sat in an old rocking chair in the corner of the room, Sherlock's prone figure being surrounded by the fluffy duvet and mountain of pillows as he slept. The cocaine Sherlock had taken and the sedative the doctor had given him should be nearly out of his system by now. John looked around the room again, his eyes settling on the lush green forest out the window that surrounded the house. Mycroft had called this a remote cabin on Holmes private property, but this 'cabin' was still four times larger than John's family's home, and just as exquisitely furnished as the Holmes house, if more rustic and homey in style. This rehab wasn't going to be easy; it had been a last resort to bring them to this cabin, cut off from the outside world. But when Sherlock had turned up on John's doorstep last night, high as a kite, John had decided he'd had enough broken promises from Sherlock.

Sherlock was slowly becoming more aware of the room around him. Keeping his eyes closed, he could hear the rocking chair squeaking in the corner, he could smell the musty scent of a rarely used house, but he could not remember what had happened the night before.

John let out a sigh as he rubbed his face. He was exhausted, John hadn't gotten a wink of sleep since Sherlock had turned up on his doorstep, and he refused to let himself sleep until he was sure Sherlock was alright.

Hearing John sigh, he could hear the tiredness in his friend's voice. He cracked one of his eyes open, immediately groaning at the brightness of the light and shutting his eyes again.

John sat up straight at the sound of Sherlock waking; he was on his feet and at the side of the bed, sitting on the edge of the mattress. "How are you feeling?" he asked softly.

"Barely disoriented, mildly confused, and very hungry." Sherlock answered, keeping his hand over his eyes as he sat up in the bed.

"I'll make you some breakfast. Here." John held out the glass of water he had put on the bedside table a few hours ago. "You should keep your fluids up."

Sherlock accepted the glass from John and took a sip. "What happened? I remember going to your house but after that my memory seems to have lapsed."

"You arrived at my house hopped up on cocaine; I'm not surprised you don't remember much." John said this with an unusual calm, especially since John's insides were far from calm.

"Oh." Sherlock didn't know what else to say. He'd felt that he'd been doing really well and would be fine with just a little bit of a treat but it seems not. Sherlock felt a wave of guilt washing over him at the thought of John having to see him like that after he'd broken another promise. "I'm sorry, John."

John just nodded, the sincerity of those words had faded considerably given how many times it had been used in this instance. "How does bacon and eggs on toast sound?" John said as he made his way out of the bedroom and to the kitchen.

"John, please don't be mad." Sherlock said as he trailed after him. He knew he had no right to say that but he couldn't stand the thought of John being angry with him. "It was an accident. A miscalculation."

"I'm not mad at you," John said with the same calm tone he had used before. John began to get out the things needed for breakfast, pouring Sherlock a glass of orange juice and setting it in front of him on the counter.

"Yes you are." Sherlock responded, ignoring the juice on the counter. "I can tell by your behavior. It's highly irregular and it's obvious that you're suppressing rage by the slight tremor of your hands and the small twitch on the left side of your mouth."

"I'm not suppressing rage," he was suppressing the urge to cry to burst into tears and slump down on the floor, because it hurt, it hurt to have Sherlock betray his trust as carelessly as anything, and every single time he apologizes only to break his promise again. This was one big vicious loop, and it was tearing John apart. "Drink your juice."

"Increased moisture of the eyes, refusal to look at my face, continued tremor of hands and twitch of mouth, covered by calm indifference while attempting to distract yourself with mundane domesticity." Sherlock muttered to himself, coming to the correct conclusion this time. "You're hurt. Betrayed." he whispered, "I'm so sorry John. I really didn't mean it."

"I'm sure you didn't." John said as he began to make them both breakfast, frying up bacon, making several eggs and some toast, even frying up some tomato slices. He set a plate next to Sherlock's juice, pouring as glass for himself as he sat down. "Better eat it before it gets cold." he said between mouthfuls of toast.

Sherlock simply stared at John, ignoring the food. He wasn't telling him something. He was being far too accepting and calm. "John please. I don't think I could handle it if things stayed like this."

"Well then get clean and stay that way." John said curtly. "Because this is the result if you don't, because I can't handle seeing you do that to yourself over and over and over." John looked down at Sherlocks food again, "Sit down and eat."

Sherlock poked at his food. Another wave of guilt came crashing down. "I was doing okay... I thought I could handle it... Just a little bit... I miscalculated..."

"You did," John said, not looking at Sherlock, just eating his food.

Sherlock continued to stare at John, hoping that he would look over. "Why are we here?"

"So you can get clean with no more 'miscalculations'." John didn't look at Sherlock, didn't think he had the heart to without wanting to cry. "You can leave if you like, door's over there." John gestured vaguely to the front door across the room.

Sherlock's gaze never wavered. He hated seeing John this way, especially when he knew it was his fault. He was done. No more accidents or miscalculations. No more drugs. "I'm staying John." Sherlock answered, "I'm going to get clean. For you."

"Good," John set his cutlery down on his empty plate, "Eat." he said before standing and taking his plate to the sink, washing it and setting it on the drying rack.

Sherlock obeyed John's orders this time, slowly eating the cooled food. "Where's Mycroft?"

John shrugged, "No idea, not here, but he's more than likely keeping an eye on us." It was just John and Sherlock in this big cabin, there was a group of doctors down the path in another small house for emergencies, but other than that there was no one for miles.

"He always is isn't he? Especially since there are three different cameras and two bugs right in this room." Sherlock chuckled, "Quite predictable Mycroft."

John just shrugged before letting out a yawn, his exhaustion catching up on him again. "I'm going to get some sleep." John headed over to the room next to Sherlock's. "Wake me if you need anything alright?" John let out a sigh, not even bothering to close the door as he stripped down to his pants and collapsed into the soft bed.

Sherlock watched John leave. He still hadn't looked at him. Sherlock walked to the room and leaned on the doorframe, watching John as he fell asleep.

John had fallen asleep in seconds, his body easing into the sheets, all the tension and effort in holding up his calm face gone, leaving John with a sad, yet relaxed expression on his face.

Sherlock looked at John's face, slowly inching into the room. He didn't know why but he wanted to comfort John somehow. He found himself crawling into the other side of the bed.

John gravitated towards Sherlock and his warmth, despite all of his emotions and all he had been through, the fact remained that John loved Sherlock, and couldn't be without him.

Sherlock felt John inching towards him in his sleep and slowly reciprocated the action, guiding John into his arms.

John buried himself into Sherlock warmth, his body relaxing even further as he slept.

Sherlock smiled to himself, lightly tightening his grip on John, before drifting off to sleep himself. He would do it. He would get clean. For John.


End file.
